


Limerence

by EtincelleDOR



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Drug Use, F/M, Fluff, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 11:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17405873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtincelleDOR/pseuds/EtincelleDOR
Summary: Lotor comes down with a very serious case of the feels.Somewhere between Oriande and the Rift, because why not?





	Limerence

**Author's Note:**

> Some mentions of drug use and mental health issues here, but no shortage of fluff.  
> Enjoy!

 

* * *

 

The first time something strikes Allura as being off, she is sitting in the middle of a meeting with Lotor and the other paladins.

Shiro has been speaking for the last half hour, and while Allura had been listening intently, her eyes cannot help but wander over to the new Galra Emperor from time to time. She loves the way his eyes sparkle when they meet hers from across a room. They had been sneaking glances at each other for a while, just when no one else was around to see, and she loved how her heart raced with the thrill. He was brilliant, she had finally conceded, but when had be become handsome?

A few quintants ago, she had a weak moment, while they were all on the bridge together no less, unable to help herself as her eyes roamed down his body in the low light. Only for a torn-tick, but it was already too late. He had caught her, his lips curled into the smallest of smirks. He never said a word, thank the Ancients. She would die with embarrassment if the other paladins knew. She was surprised none of them noticed her cheeks turning a mortifying shade of red, or her giddying smile.

He had got to her, in the best way, although she wouldn’t quite admit it yet. 

Today, there was no sparkle in his eyes, no tiny smirk. Instead, his eyelids droop in a state of expressionlessness, his fist starting to make an indentation in his cheek as he flits in and out of consciousness.

Truth be told, he hasn’t been quite the same since returning from Oriande. She had initially attributed it to downheartedness – Lotor had longed for acceptance by Oriande for deca-phoebs, and it had accepted her after only phoebs of knowing that it had even existed, and even then, only after he had introduced her to the possibility. That aside, Allura could tell that the acceptance he so desired was symbolic of so much more for him, and she felt his disappointment personally.

She isn’t the first of them to notice his indisposed condition. Lance, obviously, as the least inclined to pay any attention in meetings, had noticed first, and had spent the last two minutes pulling funny faces and raising two fingers behind Lotor’s head, resulting in snickers from Pidge and Hunk.

Allura glares daggers at him from across the table. ‘ _Stop that_ ’, she mouths. To her dismay, this only succeeds in making them snigger audibly, and she slams her palm to the table.

“I believe Emperor Lotor may have had enough for today.”

Lance bursts out into a cackle of laughter, with the others following in short succession.

Lotor, who has only just realises that the commotion is owed to him, jerks bolt upright, his hand darting to his weapon, eyes wild for a split second, before realising what is happening, and slumping back over the table, his palm nursing his forehead in a mixture of humiliation and annoyance.

“I’m fine, Princess. Please continue.”

“We’ll continue another time.” Shiro says, throwing a stare at Lance from across the table. “Coran, can you ensure all the minutes are…” he eyes the group of them again, sure that none of them have been listening for his entire presentation, “Distributed.”

Coran’s written notes were piled in a jumbled mess that was sure to take him half a quintant to decipher. “Of course.”

Allura makes her way around the table and takes Lotor’s arm, practically hauling him out of his seat. “You’re coming with me to the medbay.”

Lotor grimaces uncomfortably as her hand grips his bicep, the warmth and proximity of her body not helping him in the slightest. Flinching, he shrugs her away violently. “That’s unnecessary, Princess.”

Allura plays down the feeling of giltedness that slapped her across the face. How rude, she thinks. Although if he’s ill, she supposes she shouldn’t expect his usual decorum.

“Lotor you’re clearly unwell…”

“Stop it!” he snarls as she brushes his arm again, “Kindly interfere in someone else’s affairs you quiznacking Nuuskob!”  

Allura’s fist connects with Lotor’s face so hard that it goes right through him, knocking him out cold on impact before he can attempt to defend himself. The other paladins watch, horrified as the mighty Galra Emperor hits the deck in a crumpled, undignified heap.

“Yes!” Lance shrieks, “Yes! I knew it would happen! Hunk, cough up.”

“Hey no fair man, you said she’d kill him.”

 They both look over to Allura, who is visibly shaking with anger, her fists still curled tightly. Lance shrugs.

“Wait for it, wait for it...”

“What did _you_ think she would do?” Pidge asks Hunk.

Hunk’s eyes immediately divert in a shifty manner. “Erm. Something else.”

“Alright, can it, all of you!” Says Shiro impatiently.

Closing her eyes and making an effort to compose herself, Allura finally releases her fists. “Take him to the medical bay and _strap_ him down!” she hisses.

 

* * *

 

“Well Princess, I don’t know what to make of it.”

Allura only decides that she has calmed down enough to visit the medical bay at the end of the day. ‘ _The bastard_!’ she thinks to herself, ‘ _how dare he call me a quiznacking Nuuskob_?’ He had better be very ill if he wanted a chance at forgiveness on that one. Although she had to admit, any form of ill-mannered insult was very out of character for Lotor. This was a man who had been exiled and hunted his entire life, slain his own father, and inherited an empire of subjects that mostly hated him, and yet his gentlemanly demeanour barely ever faltered. He was a good actor. And a good liar.

Coran is already there waiting for her, donning a white coat and stethoscope over his usual garments. She grimaces internally, the thought of Coran impersonating any kind of medical professional seemed somewhat disturbing.

Lotor, still unconscious from his earlier error, has been cuffed and tied down to the medbay bed, his outer armour removed, and a multitude of electrodes attached to his wrists, chest and forehead.

“His vitals are all within normal limits. His own suit monitoring systems haven’t detected anything out of the ordinary either. It seems he is in the peak of physical health.” He says, “Headache aside.” He adds with a wink, “You didn’t half give him a shiner.”  

Oh quiznak, she thinks, that wasn’t the diplomacy she so fervently preached. Still, he had been rather rude.

“Will he be alright?”

“Our systems think so, Princess.”

“So? He’s just tired?”

“It would seem so.”

“ _Nngh_ …”

Both Allura and Coran look down to see Lotor stir, a growl of pain erupting from his throat. His wrists snap against his restraints, but he can’t generate enough force to break them. Defeated, his head drops back against the pillow with a groan.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, hoping that she might have managed to knock some sense into him with her little indiscretion.

“ _Like death_.” He murmurs, “ _What is this_?”

 “We’re trying to work out what’s ailing you.” She says, “You’ve been a difficult patient, to say the least.”

“I told you.” He mutters gruffly, “I don’t need diagnosing.”

“You said you were fine.” She argues, “You were clearly lying.”

“I _said_ the medbay was unnecessary.” He says, “I know what’s wrong with me, it will pass. Although now I have a headache as well.”

Relenting in her aggressiveness, Allura takes a seat beside him to have a closer look at the bruise on his face. “I’m sorry Lotor.” She says, “I shouldn’t have hit you.” She takes his hand in hers and start to channel her power, “Let me heal that for you.”

Still, even tied down, Lotor was still squirming to be away from her, turning his head away and closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at her. “Don’t touch me.” He snarls, “Please.”

Her hands drops his as if it is red hot, and she squeezes it awkwardly between her knees instead as if it had actually burned her. “Fine. Suffer if you’d rather.” She says.

 

* * *

 

“I mean, maybe that’s what he’s always like.”

Had it been any of the guys suggesting this, Allura would have shot the idea down in flames, but as it was Pidge, her hand stirring meaninglessly at her dessert, Allura gave the idea a little thought. “What?”

 “I mean, he’s been charming us for months, and all that time we’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Maybe this is it. Maybe he’s a manic depressive with an inferiority complex.”    

“The other shoe?”

“I think he’s playing us.” Lance quips, “There’s nothing wrong with him. He just wants our sympathy! Say like, right now. Right now, do you know for certain where he is? None of us are supervising him, he could be sneaking around the Castle while we’re all in here clueless.”  

“I’m checking in on him irregularly, but I’ve never found him out of the medbay.”

“It would be fairly embarrassing if he dropped one of the lions right out of our own hangers.” Hunk admits.

“I trust him.” Allura says firmly, “And even if I didn’t, it would hardly be one of his better ideas.” she contemplates underneath the bright lights of the dining room, “Why would he insult a foreign dignitary whom he desperately needs the support of if he wants to keep power?”

“Well, what else do you suggest?”

Allura shrugs thoughtfully. “Alteans recognise a multitude of illnesses that concern the mind rather than the body.” She says, “Maybe it’s something like that.”

“You’re suggesting he needs a space shrink?” Lance asks, a globule of space-gloop falling from his spoon, “Great! Maybe they’ll lock him up in a straitjacket somewhere and we won’t have to worry about him for the next few centa-phoebs.” 

“Lance!” rang the chorus of voices from around the table.

“How would we go about ascertain if that were the case?” Pidge asks.

Shiro shakes his head. “I don’t want to have to resort to a Galra physician.” He says, “It would be detrimental for the Empire to know he’s weakened right now.”

Allura returns her attention to her unappetising dessert. “Whatever it is, I can’t help him, and that doesn’t sit well with me.”

 “Hey,” said Hunk, “He said he knew what was wrong with him, and that it would be alright. Maybe he just needs some time.”

“I hope so.”

 

* * *

 

Days passed, with no improvement in Lotor’s demeanour. She had allowed him to return to his room, as there was no physical reason for keeping him in the medical bay, but still the cause of his catatonia was elusive to say the least.

Allura visited him in his chambers with trays of food, glasses of water and a friendly smile, wanting desperately for him to look up from his bed with that same sparkle that she had grown so fond of. Still every time, he would bark at her to leave, and throw himself back down into the sheets again, refusing to even look at her.

She had started to keep her personal thoughts on the subject from the other paladins. While the all claimed to understand the concept of an ailing mind, she couldn’t help but conclude otherwise. At least Lance wasn’t pretending to. The silent judgement wasn’t unkindly meant, she knew that, but it was there all the same, hovering over them like a dark cloud that never went away. Good things, like concern for her own well-being, or reasonable doubt that Lotor would be fit to lead the Galra Empire in such a state, all twisted into a much crueller ignorance. Even Coran, whose kind-heartedness was exemplary, gave flat, hopeless looks that plainly said that she deserved better than such a volatile person.

They were ignorant. Lotor was suffering, somehow, somewhere, she could feel it, and it broke her heart that she couldn’t stop it.

 “Lotor…” she says, on the third attempt, gently perching on the end of his bed with the lightest shift of her weight as she could, for fear that she might trigger another violent episode. She hadn’t even turned the lights on, leaving only a strip of light from the doorway to illuminate both of them. He shied away, hiding his face underneath the duvet.

“I… I don’t know what you’re going through.” She plays silently with her hands in her lap, her fingers as tangled as her poorly prepared words. Still he doesn’t respond, which she takes as a small success. At least he hasn’t asked her to go.  

“But I want to help.” She continues. He grunts in response, his body motionless below the sheets.

“We’ve become such good friends now, you and I, and… I’m here for you, whether you want me here or not.”

A thought crosses Allura’s head, and she slaps her palm over her mouth before she spurts it out. Did the Galra have cyclic fertility, or mating drives? Is that why he was being so aggressive? And avoiding her? Quiznak. She knows nothing about Galra biology. She feels the blood drain from her face and thanks the Sages that he cannot read her mind. Relax, she tells herself, he doesn’t look like he’s teeming with lust. He can barely get out of bed.

“Relax. It’s not _that_.”

A reflective yellow Galra sclera eyes her from the pillow, and she feels her cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “I didn’t say anything…”

“It was all over your face.” He says despondently, rolling over violently and pointing at the bedside table, “Pass me two of those please.”

Allura’s eyes land on a small bottle of tablets on the table, and she leans over and swipes at them, using the opportunity to sit closer to him. The label is written entirely in Galra, and composed only of word she never came across in her elementary education.

“Lotor, what are these?”

“That doesn’t concern you.”

He pulls himself up onto his elbows, the duvet sliding down to reveal his bare chest to the cool air. His eyes are distant, blank, and lifeless in their study of her as she taps two pills into her palm, a far cry from his usual charismatic charm. For a moment she isn’t even sure if he can see her through them at all. This is awful, she thinks, and this certainly cannot continue. But what can she do if he won’t talk to her? Lotor throws the pills to his face and swallows them in one, grimacing as he does so. Not really thinking, Allura curls her hand around his and squeezes it, the way he so often had hers when he wanted to support her.

Maybe it was the darkness, maybe it was her wanting so badly to see something, anything in his face, but she could swear that his eyes soften as they meet hers, just for a tick, like a baby animal caught in the headlights.  

It passes as quickly as it comes though, and his fleeting fragility disappears into the hard, empty stare she had become so used to. He pulls his hand away.

“Another.”

She nods painfully, and reaches for the pills again, his stare burning into her back. Silently, she tips two tablets into her palm, and lets one hide between her thumb and forefinger, passing him only the one. He necks it just as quickly as previously, and then sinks back into his sheets, his body curling away from her.

“Allura.” He says, Don’t visit again.”

 

* * *

 

Allura waits until late into the night cycle, before knocking on Pidge’s door. Lance couldn’t be trusted to say something sensible on the subject if he tried, and as understanding as the others would try to be, she found herself unable to cope with their blank expressions, all the while behind them hoping she would just let this go and leave Lotor to his own devices. When Pidge opens the door, Allura doesn’t have to say a single word. Sure that she can guess what this is about, Pidge beckons her inside and locks the door.

“I caught him taking these.” Says Allura, holding up the pill between her fingers for Pidge to see, “I think they’re from the emergency provisions on his fighter.”

“What are they?”

“I was hoping you could help me find out.”

“I’ll do my best, Princess.” Says Pidge, gripping her glasses to better view the little tablet Allura has presented her with, “But even if we can establish the contents, my protocols lack Galra data. We won’t be able to ascertain the pharmacodynamics.”

“Contents will do for now Pidge.” Says Allura, dropping into the green paladin’s palm, “We’ll find out the rest as we go.”

“I like a challenge.” Says Pidge, “I take it this visit means you haven’t told the others?”

Allura frowns. “No.” she admits, she knows exactly what they’ll think, “I don’t think that’s fair on Lotor.”

Pidge nods acceptingly. “Okay.” she says, “Let’s get to the green lion and find out what’s in these babies.”

Two minutes is all it takes to gain definitive results on the mystery medication, but it is the longest two minutes of her life, and Allura finds herself picking at the back of Pidge’s seat nervously.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She says, but the moment she says it she can tell that Pidge knows it isn’t true. She winces, and swipes a strand of hair behind her ear. She had to be fine, so it just kept falling out of her mouth until she started to believe it. She grins into the lie, and the yields with a frown. “I’m not fine, Pidge.”

Pidge bites her lip. “Sometimes, it’s okay to not be fine.” She says.

“I must have either done something, terribly insensitive in my behaviour, without realising it, and that’s why he won’t talk to me.” She says glumly, “Or, I’ve misinterpreted the nature of our alliance entirely.”  

 “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. And you can’t be responsible for his behaviour. My brother got mono in high school, we had a whole month of not being able to get a single intelligent sentence out of him. I could quite happily have throttled him at the time. It was all fine in the end though. Sometimes even princesses need to look after themselves first.”

Allura finds herself breaking out in a smile.

“You like him don’t you?”

“You mean…” Little hairs raise on the nape of her neck, and she smooths them over with the brush of a hand, “I suppose I…”

“I’m happy for you. Just, don’t do it at your own expense, okay?”

Pidge slyly turns her attention back to her screens, which have loaded a list of results. They all consist of long, unpronounceable words, even translated from Galra. Allura’s eyes widen in despair as the list grows ever longer. She glances over at Pidge, who seemed more fascinated than shocked.

“What?” she asks, leaning on the back of Pidge’s seat in the cockpit. Pidge’s fascination fades as she tracks down the list, opening tabs into each one and highlighting their indications one by one.

“It’s actually, really odd.” she murmurs.

Allura’s fingers grip the back of the seat. “ _What?”_

Allura knows she has spoken out of turn when Pidge raises an eyebrow that asks her if she is okay. She nods, and Pidge continues. “From what I can gather, the components of this medication, are mostly neurotransmitter inhibitors. Some sedatives too. And one or two other ingredients I can’t identify.”

“What does that mean?”

“In a nutshell, these are _major_ depressants Allura. We’re talking serious downers. You don’t take these, unless you’re dangerous without them. He’s making himself catatonic on purpose.”

 

* * *

 

“Sooo, the Emperor is popping pills!” Lance practically sings from the dining table when Allura updates them the next evening. “It’s come to this! Not that I’m surprised!”

“Lance would you shut up!”

Allura’s shriek caused silence to fall around the entire table, the vague clink of crockery the only noise that remained in the embarrassing silence.

“Hey!” he says, folding his arms over his chest, “Lighten up Princess. It was meant to be a joke.”

“Well it wasn’t funny.”

He turns his nose up in a huff. “Sounds like you need some of those pills yourself.”

“Princess,” says Shiro softly, “I think we may need to start considering that the help Lotor needs can’t be given on the Castle.

 Allura sinks into her seat, her head in her hands. “I’ll speak to Kolivan in the morning.”

“ _Princess!”_ Coran nearly runs smack into the doorframe, his face red and his breath puffing as he tries to get his words out, “It seems Lotor is leaving us!”

“What?”

Coran grips at his knees as he heaves. “The main hanger airlock has been activated.”

Allura is up from her chair in a flash, sprinting like mad for the bridge, where she can see for herself. Lotor’s fighter’s engines are firing, its systems engaging in pre-flight checks. She watches in horror as Lotor dizzily lifts himself into the cockpit, blinking hard through his visor as the controls hum beneath his hands.

“He can’t fly!” she exclaims, her hands flying over the Castle’s holopanels, “He’s mad if he thinks he can fly!”

“I’ve started the emergency override protocol, but I need you to… Argh!”

Allura barely notices Coran sprawling to the floor, indisposed with his own efforts at running. “I’m on it.” She says, lowering her hands to her station, “Overriding airlock!”

The red light flashes in front of her, and she sighs in relief. Lotor by now has realised what has happened, his seething frown on her monitors knocking her from worry to dismay. She waves a hand flatly as Coran moves to follow her from the bridge.

“I’ll handle this.”

 

* * *

 

Doboshes later, Allura bursts out of the hanger elevator, fists clenched, eyes fiery, straight into his path.

“I need to leave! Now!” He roars. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, biting back from hyperventilating his screaming lungs, and smoothing over his sleeves to try and hide the way his muscles twitch and spasm. 

 “Oh no you don’t.” she says, grabbing his arms as he attempts to force his way past her, “Lotor there’s no way you can fly like this! You’ll kill yourself!”

Lotor’s eyes flash a with feral rage that is far too dangerous, and it is too late to do anything. His forearm connects with her torso and knocks her backwards, his sword drawn and raised at her by the time she can regain her balance.  

“I can’t stay here!” he bellows, his voice raw and grating on her ears, “Don’t try to stop me!”

“You’re unwell Lotor, you’re not yourself! Please listen to me…”

“And whose fault is that?!” he snarls, chilling Allura to the bone, “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about!”

He’s delirious, she thinks. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He can’t do. Every nerve on her body is on fire, ready to move. She doesn’t want to engage him, but from the sheer volatility in his face, she may have to. Allura wills her tears back, setting her jaw. This isn’t how she wanted things to be with him. At one time she thought – she didn’t know what she thought. She shakes her head. She had hopes of, an alliance, in their futures that would bring peace and prosperity to the universe. But maybe, that wasn’t to be.

She has barely noticed the other paladins having taken up position around them with their bayards trained on him, ready to fire if he so much as moves a muscle. She didn’t want them shooting him, but she wouldn’t stop them if he attacked her.

“Say the word, Princess.” Says Pidge steadily.

Lance is less tactful. “Yeah, give us an excuse!”

Her eyes are trained on him, but he doesn’t attack. Allura watches unsurely as he suddenly blinks and appears to lose his balance, before his arms cross over his abdomen in a groan of pain, his sword clattering to the ground beside him.

Allura throws her arms around his waist as she collides with him, summoning all of her alchemic ability as he realises what she is doing and propels her backwards, lifting her clean off the floor. Her marks, and then the rest of her body begin to emit a soft glow of blue. Heal him, sooth him, calm him… she bids it, gently letting the flow of crisp cleansing energy wash through his body. No more pain.

As she holds onto him for dear life, she feels the claws at her arms that were trying to pry her away from him stop in their tracks and simply grip at her. Allura struggles to maintain her balance underneath his weight as he slumps forward into her arms, barely conscious, his frantic muscles finally loosening around her, his body giving in to the serenity of her embrace. His breathing slows against her chest, and she braces herself against his weight as he loses consciousness. She won’t let him fall.

“No more lies.” She mutters into his ear, “No more secrets.”

 

* * *

 

When Lotor wakes through blurry eyes, he is immediately struck by a streak of panic as vague recollections of their fight float back into his memory. He groans inwardly - he was surprised she hadn’t put him straight in an evacuation pod and sent him on his way back to High Command. Instead, he recognises the features of his room in the Castle of Lions, a soft mountain of pillows propping him up, and fresh bedding underneath his palms. He can't have been here long, he thinks, his full armour is still in place. He sighs in sheer relief as he realises there is no pain, no fear, no delirium. Nothing hurts, for the first time in his life, and it is bliss.

“Lotor?”

Allura, he thinks, trying to make her out through his blurred vision. If he had hurt her he would never have forgiven himself. The medication hadn’t helped at all, in fact it had just made things worse. The concept of her hating him was hardly novel, but it had never felt so soul-destroying.

Lotor’s eyes finally focus on her in exhaustion as she sits on the bed next to his legs, perching gently on the edge as she always did. His eyes meet hers, and then look away in frustration, meeting only the empty medication pot on the bedside table. His father was right. He was weak.

“You ran out, didn’t you?”

She isn’t angry, he deduces, she seems tired, but serene. And he so ashamed.

“Kolivan told me what these are for.” She frowns, “They numb the senses. That’s why you were depressed, and why you had violent withdrawal symptoms when you ran out.”

Kolivan. That’s a name he hasn’t heard in a long time. Thankfully, Kolivan hasn’t been entirely generous with the truth. He still isn’t sure if he can explain it to her.

“I’m well aware of the effects.”

He is used to them by now. He had taken them many times before, when what was required of him became too abhorrent, but not quite for this purpose.

The slow shaking of her head and the purse of her lips indicate that this clearly isn't an acceptable answer. "Lotor, despite your earlier outburst..." He feels her hand wander to his and squeeze it gently, again, and he squirms inwardly. He doesn’t deserve her patience. "I can't imagine what would persuade you to do this to yourself."

His eyes roll, not entirely voluntarily, but he supposes that his abnormally short temper is the least of his misdemeanours. "I, can't, sleep." he says, launching himself to his feet, "I can't think!" he glares at her from the other side of the bed, holding an angry breath in with the clench of his fist, "I can't stand next to you without - forgetting myself." 

That long, suffocating breath comes anyway, pushed out of his chest from somewhere between fury and fear.

“The Galra call this a pathology." he says finally, "Everything about me is a damn pathology!" 

He is pacing around the room like a mad thing, his hand curled up before his mouth as if to contemplate something without her hearing. He circles the end of the bed to kneel before her, but thinks better of it just before his knee touches the floor and he is up again. Allura has had enough of this, she decides, and stands to grab his arms, halting him in his tracks.

"Stop. Just stop, please." she begs him, her fingers curling into the muscles of his arms. The shock of the physical contact is enough to paralyse Lotor where he stood. He isn’t used to touch, especially not like this. He is as stiff as a board underneath her, and Allura wonders for a moment whether he is going to push her away again. 

He has to give her the truth. He owes her that much. Maybe her reaction will even help him move past this.

“My feelings for you got out of my control in Oriande.”

Allura's hands tense around him and he regrets it the moment he says it. He says it in such a matter-of-fact manner that she thinks he must have misheard him at first. He closes his eyes and turns his face away from her. All his hard work, to gain Voltron's trust, to gain _her_ trust, all irretrievable. 

“They were inappropriate, distracting and, painful. I knew I had to do whatever was necessary to quash them.”

Allura's grip on his arms falters and she can hear her heart slamming in her ears. Someone could have slapped her around the face and she wouldn’t have noticed. 

"The Galra believe that such a deviation from focus is characteristic of disease and treat it as such. A pathology of the mind that must be overcome.”

 

She allows herself to scoff, mostly to disguise her own distress but it quickly fades as it dawns on her that he is being deadly serious. He had seemed so much more Altean in his manner that it was hard to imagine Lotor ascribing to any form of Galra culture. Alteans considered feeling to be sacred. It was how they connected with the very quintessence of the world around them. To repress it was unthinkable, to remove it entirely was akin to severing a hand.

She bites her lip - she has never felt like more of a hypocrite than she does now.

"Being capable of love isn't a pathology, Lotor."

It seems so much easier to say 'capable of', than 'being in'. She can't, she just can't.

The truth is that his confession is stirring a longing deep inside her that she had buried, far beneath the burdens of responsibility and diplomacy and left there for the final embers to die. She had attributed it to having been in stasis for so long, any attention from anyone seemed comforting. She knew it was stupid, pathetic even, good manners and brilliance certainly didn't amount to sentiment, but she only had to think of the way he looked at her in Oriande and _oh Ancients_ , she knew she was lost. It wasn't hopeless, she thought. As long as she could keep her composure, and her fantasies in her head, none of it would matter. It would fade in time. 

Until this very moment.  

 

“In Galra the word carries a context of unhealthiness, Princess. As well as being considered hugely disrespectful."

Bewilderment strikes her.

“Lotor, were you…” she swallows the lump in her throat, “Taking psychoactive drugs to try and make your feelings go away?”

His ears flatten uncomfortably. “It is the usual course of treatment. That and isolation from the subject of your affliction.”

Lotor sees the reaction in her face, and a flicker of shame dances over his own. “Princess I apologise unreservedly.” He says, “I assure you I have always held you in the highest regard and no disrespect was ever meant.”

Allura exhales as she realises his hands have risen to gently cup her elbows, to hold her back. 

“What are you sorry for?” she asks, peering up at him, “Why ever would you be sorry?”

It would do nothing but hurt them both, but her heart is tearing itself to ribbons inside her chest for him. Just once, she could show him how beautiful his feelings could be. 

He stands rigidly, a flicker of a flight response in his eyes, as if some intangible thing offended his senses. Although he was meant to be an enemy, from a million realities away, he bled into hers, billowing ripples through her still existence. She shouldn’t want him like this, want his touch, or his warmth. He wants me too, she thinks, she can feel it, that thrumming energy beneath his skin, just out of her reach. She feels her ears twitch in shame, and a blush dust over her cheeks as her nose brushes against his and he yields into her, his lips parting slightly, and suddenly she hasn’t the strength to stop herself.  

Her lips dance across his in a fleeting moment of wonderful weakness and she breathes him in, the first taste of him divine. Lotor presses his eyes shut as he resists the shuddering gasp that swells inside his chest. It’s over as quickly as it begins, soft and fleeting, and she shies away, scolding herself on the hot prickling indignity of her own delight. Lotor, paralysed by shock, can still feel the sensation of her lips on his, smell her scent on his skin and his mind reels. He had only ever been made to regret his aberrant feelings before. His stomach sinks. Embracing them now… It was foreign, unnatural, uncomfortable. And surprisingly euphoric. Allura’s eyes flicker over him, drinking in the rise and fall of his chest, the heat in his cheeks and the dilation of his pupils.      

Suddenly she is torn, whether to run, or to do it again. Her heart thuds in her ears, and she cannot concentrate through the din. She wants to run…

She wants him more.      

She turns, bolder, her fingers ghosting over his jaw as she brushes his lips again. She has to taste him again and again and can’t hold in a sigh as Lotor begins to anticipate her movements and match them with his own. Allura can feel her marks glow softly with the gentle give in his resolve and his energy breaks over her, coaxing a gasp from her lips.

“You are never to be sorry on this subject again.” She breathes, feeling herself blushing as he kisses her forehead, ever so lightly, just above her circlet. “I forbid it. Do you hear me?”

 

* * *


End file.
